CLOSING NIGHT

Goodnight the darkness closes in as the theater spills its patrons into the street. The last act is finished, the curtain is down, no fanfare, no standing ovation, mild applause. The reviews, save the one from the underground rag, were all bad.

The players will look for new work in the morning. The theater will house a new playwright’s child.

I leave meekly out the stage entrance into the alley — always the alley — overflowing garbage cans stray cats stench of vomit.

You join the crowd push your way out into the street, with its bright lights, laughter smell of hot pretzels, carnival air.

The crowd moves past the alley where my unnoticed shadow climbs a fire escape to a small cluttered room to study far into the morning, reviewing the mistakes of my past performance, practicing my new lines.